


Little Lilies

by InerrantErotica



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: F/M, Kissing, No Dialogue, Romance, Sex, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InerrantErotica/pseuds/InerrantErotica
Summary: Two ashen undead, each on their own journeys, struggle against both the unforgiving world and their own melancholy. They see eachother first as phantasms, specters visible only in silhouette. But their quest brings them together, time and time again, closer and closer. All because of one little flower.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Little Lilies

The High Wall of Lothric. A lonely and desolate place at the end of the world, presiding over the vast decay stretching out at its foundation. A faint wind stirred the banners and gave the grass a gentle and solemn sway. Looming over all, a faint sun, barely capable of penetrating the pale clouds shrouding the sky.

The corpses of dragons draped over the bannisters and undead wandered the desolate ruins.

There was… a beauty to the stillness. Like a requiem for an age greater and more dignified.

A solitary undead wandered that solemn place. All the others had gone hollow- Fallen knights of Lothric on patrol and footmen dragging their weapons along the hewn stone and kicking up sparks. He himself was a knight so long ago, reduced to kindling, and then reborn as ash.

He wore the armor of a noble warrior, but what lay beneath was just the shadow of a man, roused unwillingly from his slumber to embark upon a hopeless quest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw faint glimpses of phantasms- other Undead, like himself, venturing in other times and other worlds. He saw them die, burned alive by a wyvern, or impaled upon a Lothric knight’s spear. He saw them strive and struggle.

All around him had lain the Hollows felled by his sword.

It was a moment of quiet reverie. A time, perhaps, for reflection.

The knight looked about, his eyes drifting over the quiet expanse… until he saw one phantasm, the pale silhouette of a female… just standing there, lost in her own ruminations.

He wondered what might have so completely seized her attention.

The knight took a step forward… and the phantasm turned around, looking over her shoulder at him. It was as if she knew he was watching…

But then she disappeared, fading until she was but a faint echo lingering in his memory. 

He shrugged, lowering his head… but then he noticed what was at her feet.

The knight stepped closer and knelt down to find, swaying there, a tiny little lily. It was such a fragile thing… seemingly barely able to sustain its own weight, miniscule as that was. It drooped and hung low, as if burdened by the monumental hopelessness of its world.

…  
…  
…

The knight had taken the poor lily back to Firelink Shrine, holding it tenderly. In all his time, going back and forth through lifetimes, never did the little thing wither and die as he had expected. The warmth of the bonfire seemed to rejuvenate it as much as it brought renewed vigor to his own weary spirit.

He took it with him beyond Lothric, to the Undead Settlement at its base. The knight wandered past the petrified corpses of the pilgrims, beyond the wretched and the cursed inhabiting those dilapidated hovels.

One by one they fell to his blade, evangelists, beasts and hollows alike.

The knight felt so very alone, adrift in a world that was so indifferent to his fleeting existence. Until he saw another phantasm in quiet contemplation. A feminine silhouette… and so very pensive in her demeanor.

It was her. It had to be.

Even if he couldn’t make out any distinct features of her form or figure- he knew just from the way she carried herself. Then he looked down and his suspicions were confirmed. At her feet, another solitary lily swayed in the gentle breeze.

She knelt down and faded from his world, evanescing completely…

At the very least, it was a consolation to his spirit that she had gotten this far as well. Onwards the knight went, the sputtering flame in his heart nurtured just a little further.

…  
…  
...

Later, at Farron Keep, he had at last trudged through the swamps and endured the perils of the woods to ascend the fortress itself. At last a respite, and beside the great wolf who slumbered within those stony walls, a bonfire.

The exhausted knight sat down at its comforting warmth with a deep sigh of relief.

A few times before, he had seen other willful undead like himself at these bonfires- kindling like himself, on their own journeys. They were akin to the phantasms he had seen wandering about, echoes of another world. His thoughts drifted back to her… and the lilies.

The knight reached into a pouch hanging at his belt and produced from it the frail little flower. Still alive, in spite of all odds. Like himself, it appeared to be possessed of an indomitable will and a refusal to expire.

An apparition began to take shape across the fire, drawing his attention.

A woman clad in armor, with her visor down and her face obscured. A herald, perhaps? A symbol of inspiration on the battlefield- a messenger delivering hope and good tidings. Upon seeing him, she sat up and slapped her palms into the ground. She ducked her head around the bonfire to get a good look at him.

The knight looked down at the lily in his hand and understood instantly who she was! He leaned closer and bent around the fire, proffering the little flower to her. Her whole posture changed, as if a great and lonely weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She reached out to accept the gift…

...but alas, she disappeared- fading away from this brief intersection of their worlds.

His arm felt so very heavy and the knight sighed in disappointment.

…  
…  
…

There were no lilies deep underground, nor in cold Irithyll. There were no heralds either.

The knight moved listlessly, almost as aimless the hollows.

His thoughts turned for the forlorn, and he wondered if this place had been as inhospitable to the herald as it was for the lilies. Had she lost all hope and given up? Had she gone hollow? Was such a little thing the only thing she had left to hold onto?

He found himself overcome with bitterness rather than sadness. Resentful for this uncaring world, driven by his contempt for it...Perhaps his enmity for it all was the only reason he did not succumb to despair and go hollow.

The knight pressed on, grinding his teeth beneath the cold veil of his helm.

He found Anor Londo in ruins, a husk of its former splendor. No lilies to be found there either. The knight put to rest another wretched Lord of Cinder amid its empty halls.

His quest was nearing its end- and only his oblivion awaited him when his duty was done.

If he made it that far. It was becoming increasingly apparent why the Lords of Cinder had forsaken their oaths. What did it matter if the flame went out? What did anything matter?

His journey returned him to Lothric, where he had slain the Boreal Dancer and ascended to the castle proper.

Only the princes were left to burn.

He had gotten this far, driven by a bitter resolve to see this sordid affair to its end- to his own end at the first flame. The knight defeated the reanimated wyverns guarding the castle and battled its hollowed inhabitants through the royal residences.

The place was quiet, quieter still when everything was dead.

He marched along, headlong towards his demise.

Until the knight saw something.

A tiny thing, gently swaying in the breeze. A little lily.

He looked around, wary of some kind of trap. Of an illusion meant to ensnare him… or some cruel jape. But there was none. Nothing but this little lily on the edge of the wall, overlooking eternity.

The knight looked up at the dying sun, its gross incandescence bleeding to the earth and leaving the sky in perpetual dusk. Then… back to the flower, persisting through all this sullen bleakness.

To his shock, a scrawl of light formed upon the soil before its stem. A soapstone sign?

His hand moved of its own volition, and he touched the glyph, feeling its warmth even through his ironclad gauntlet.

He took a step back.

A few moments later, a kneeling figure clad in white light materialized from the sign… and then she rose, the shimmer fading to reveal a woman clad head to toe in armor like himself.

She had a rough time of it, he thought- judging by how much more protection she had put on herself since Farron Keep. It appeared to be a suit taken from the knights of this place, though she hadn’t forgone her herald’s helm.

It was… a comforting sight.

He reached into his pouch, taking out the eternal lily and offered it to her.

Finally, for the first time, they could touch. Even if wrought iron would always separate them. The woman took the little flower and folded her hand around it, gently bringing it to her breastplate with a thankful nod.

He looked up at the high castle towering over them, just shy of the bleeding sun. Where their adversaries awaited… Her eyes followed his own, up to the spires and baroque architecture.

But then he turned back, looking out at all the paths he had already tread- and the hollows he had put down along the way. knights were lain face down, their torn capes barely blowing in the wind. An ignoble end to an order once so high.

The herald took a step in front of him, back down towards the High Wall… away from their task.

He followed.

She took measure of his ‘work’, if only briefly, but went on just to look out over the bannisters at the land once known as Lothric. At the sad beauty of it all.

They were soon wandering side by side at such a pensive pace, quietly absorbing the tranquility of this desolate castle beneath the dusky orange sky.

Their hands were nearly touching- at times just a hair’s breadth away from one another.

Tiny particles of ash were falling upon them as the two made their way past the bridge and down the ramparts, back indoors and away from that unseemly sun.

There they slowed, coming to rest in an empty room with an empty fireplace. No bonfire and no warmth- just each other’s company.

The herald sat down on the carpet, her heavy armor clinking and shifting as she made the slow and ponderous journey down to the ground. With so much weight upon her feminine frame, she was liable to tumble over if she wasn’t cautious.

The knight joined her, just as wary of losing his balance. Once down, it’d be an effort to get back up again.

All thought of his journey had voided from his mind, all thought of princes and eclipses vanished- leaving only… her.

Everything else seemed so much more inconsequential now.

The herald leaned back and brought her hands in front of her chest, working the fasteners on her heavy leather and iron gloves. With a flip of her fingers she flicked the straps off and he could see her glove instantly loosen up. Then she plucked the gauntlets from her hands, one and then the other.

Her skin was so pale, her fingers so dainty and delicate to be covered by such heavy material. She began to massage them, rubbing each one from her pinky to her thumb. She opened and closed her hand when she was done… and then repeated the ritual for the other.

All the while the knight watched, completely fixated.

When she was down, she shrugged her shoulders and let her hands fall into her lap with a soft pat. The herald looked around and then lowered her head.

He followed her eyes to the woman’s boots.

Then, a moment later, she began working the straps and fasteners to them as well. Her deft hands worked them off in moments, and she peeled the long leather boots off to expose a pair of petite calves and feet in wool stockings. She untied the ribbons just shy of her knees and stripped both socks off at the same time.

He let out a breath like the echo of a laugh. She was wiggling her toes, the pink little things finally breathing freely.

She leaned back again, tenting her feet so that her soles met and she could fidget her big toes against one other.

His gauntlet went further up his arm and would be more difficult to extricate. He looked down at his hand, contemplating whether or not it would be worth the effort to pull them off as well… but then she made the decision for him, taking his ironclad arm in both hands and finding the straps to loosen it.

A moment later, she pulled the heavy thing off of him, revealing a leather glove. He peeled that off- revealing a hand more swarthy in complexion than her own, with a tinge of redness. She soon held him in both hands, his fingers so thick and calloused while hers’ were so dainty.

Her skin was as driven snow, while his was as upturned earth. Her touch was so soft and warm… and soon her fingers weaved with his own.

They looked to one another, their faces obscured by a veil of iron and steel.

She lifted a hand up to one of his pauldrons, resting upon it… her fingers closed and she idly fiddled with the strap just beneath the plate. A half-minded flip and a tug loosened the clasp and his pauldron began to slide backwards towards his shoulder blade.

The shift in weight made him lean to that side- and then he stiffened his back. She recoiled, as if she had done something to hurt him.

The herald untangled her fingers from his own and got on her knees, leaning over to his side. She brought her hands up to the back of his pauldron and loosened the straps completely, then went down his arm for the other fasteners- all the way to his bare hand.

After all that was done, it was easy to slide the plate off. He rotated his arm to stretch but she scooted up behind him before he could respond. While she helped remove his armor from behind, he used his newly freed arm to undo the straps on the front. His breastplate came off in two pieces and they set them aside, leaving him in a faded jacket over chainmail.

He hesitantly raised his hands up to his helm. The knight nodded to her and she did the same.

Together they lifted their helmets. From his came a man with short dark hair and worn amber eyes, his jaw covered in coarse scruffy hair. From hers came a woman with long silvery blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Her tresses tumbled out onto her shoulders like a waterfall.

She was… positively angelic, her features framed in golden strands of hair. Light in all the ways he was dark, feminine in all the ways he was masculine, beautiful in all the ways he was… handsome.

They were both smiling.

She softly laughed and he joined her as well.

The knight opened his mouth and started to grasp for some words but… nothing would come out and he fell silent.

There simply wasn’t much more to say.

...and that was alright.

The herald, noting their disparity, unclasped the red cape around her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She tore off the tattered hauberk that was once an emblem of the proud house of Lothric. 

They sat there for awhile, just looking at one another until she began to peel off her own suit of armor to match him.

He soon rendered his assistance, helping her with the front while she worked on the back. The metal fell around her and they moved it out of the way, leaving her in a ash-white tunic with a collar that was bunched up around her slender neck.

The knight sat backwards and the herald folded her hands into her lap, both of them now feeling considerably unburdened.

The woman inhaled deeply and sighed with a smile.

He smiled as well.

She fumbled with the hem of her tunic for a while... and then abruptly took hold of the fabric and pulled it up over her head. At first he didn’t realize- the pale shade of her skin wasn’t all that different from the white of her robes. But then he saw… a navel. Amid the field of snow that was her skin, a woman’s belly button.

But in the blink of an eye, his eyes followed the movement of her hands as they raced up- revealing her ribs and her breasts and her slender collar bones- until she had thrown off her tunic completely.

She was so very petite beneath all that heavy armor, her figure wiry and lean. Her breasts so perfectly suited the rest of her figure that he could not focus on them alone- but rather as a part of the whole. Just… her.

He was drawn to her face most of all, to the soft smile upon her fair lips.

And those soft sky blue eyes.

The herald threw her hands into her lap and then swallowed the lump in her throat.

He sat there, dumbstruck.

Then she leaned over and punched him on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. He softly shook his head and blinked. The herald then flicked her arms up and he had a sudden moment of realization.

The knight slipped off his jacket, revealing a chainmail shirt beneath that soon followed.

She seemed just as pleased to see him laid bare. His body was bulky in all the ways where she was lean, both of them muscled in different ways. Where she was smooth and unblemished- he was hard and roughened.

He had scars over his arms, a few burns across his body, and a bit of hair across his chest. Whereas he avoided staring directly at her chest, she couldn’t resist letting her eyes wander down his figure. At least her appraisal seemed positive.

The woman leaned forward and took one of his hands in her own, dragging it towards herself. With just a moment’s hesitation, she pulled him to her breast- and let him touch her.

She moved her hands away, watching as his coarse fingers met her soft flesh- as his palm squashed her little pink nipple. He gently squeezed and she sharply inhaled.

Soon he brought his other hand up, massaging the other breast.

The herald closed her eyes and softly giggled, turning her head away. He squeezed and rubbed, massaged and stroked… her nipples were growing harder against his palms. When he moved one of his hands aside, out popped the sensitive nub, firm and stuff.

He smiled at the little thing, poking out from under his palm like that.

She reached out for his elbows, holding him as she leaned closer… and he met her in turn, kissing her.

It was just a modest kiss. A mere peck.

But then their affections grew in passion and intensity, each kiss fonder than the last. They leaned into each other, back and forth. Her hands drifted from his arms to his torso, and then to his waist. She drew her fingers around to his stomach… and then lower. She unbuckled his belt and left it to hang loosely off his hips.

His legs were still covered in plate mail much like her own, which… tempered a bit of her ardor. It would be a long process to remove them.

Yet there was still something she could do, as he was now…

The herald crept her fingers along to the strings that kept his trousers bound tight and she pulled them apart. It gave her just enough room to slip her hand in, where she found something so very warm, so very hard, and so very manly.

In such cramped quarters, bound as they were by the trappings of his clothes and armor, she could barely budge! ...but budge she did, rolling her fingertips along whatever of him she could.

He let out a sigh and ran his thumbs across her nipples, his own fingertips brushing against her ribs. They kissed again, more deeply, and she found she could not so much as move her fingers around within his trousers as she could merely squeeze and relax.

So she squeezed… gently and tenderly, rubbing her palm against what she estimated to be his tip. She squeezed and rubbed, barely moving at all. Yet for a man so long denied the comfort of a woman’s touch, every moment was an agonizing ecstasy.

His own movements were slowing, his affections upon her breasts and the movements of his tongue slowing.

The herald didn’t relent though, more than happy to pick up the pace with their kissing. She felt his breath quickening and knew he would not long endure. She could feel his excitement upon her fingers, straining against her.

He let out a moan and she felt him throb so mightily in her grasp! A second later and an unbelievably hot wetness started amassing between them. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his whole body seizing up. She felt him orgasm in waves, accumulating in the cramped confines of his trousers.

All the while the herald continued to squeeze and rub while he moaned and shuddered.

He was clutching at her in a helpless embrace and her whole hand was soon drenched in something thick and hot- to say nothing of how much he was getting all over himself.

At last it receded, and when he was done- he had almost quite literally filled his trousers with his pleasure. The shape of her hand could be more easily seen through the fabric- as it had been completely soaked.

Removing her hand would be no easy task, but persevere she did… and with a soft smile she slid her hand out- coating his stomach along the way.

He had left her hand dripping, a thick and shiny sheen slathered across her delicate fingers.

Utterly spent, the knight laid down on his side, pulling her with him. He lowered his head, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

She, meanwhile, was staring at her drenched hand, fixated on the sight and the sensation. She watched his pleasure slowly crawl down her wrist and down her forearm. A single drop fell to her breast.

Her reverie was broken by his insistence for a kiss, which she eagerly accepted. The herald closed her eyes and embraced his tongue. Her massaged her breast, squeezing her still firm nipple between his index finger and his thumb- before his hand wandered lower, down to her navel… and deeper still, into her own pants.

She too was armored from the knees down, but whereas his anatomy forbid much movement within the confines of his clothes… a woman’s body offered his fingers a warm and wet and tight embrace.

It was her turn to moan and shudder. She squeezed her hand into a fist and brought it to her chest with his pleasure oozing between her knuckles.

He was intent on meeting every iota of pleasure that she had given him. He stroked her from within and without- his palm rubbing against her sensitive nub while his fingers bid her ‘come hither’.

Their experiences pleasuring one another were not… too dissimilar- for there was just as little room to move around. Whether he wriggled up or down, left or right, back or forward, the herald found it all so very, very agreeable.

She moaned beneath his kisses and he felt her tightening upon his fingers. He went deeper, with both his tongue and his hand. The knight was determined to gratify her completely.

Her breathing became shaky and labored, her breasts trembled and her flat stomach undulated with every respiration. He could feel her clenching on him, could feel her own climax drawing nigh.

With a high-pitched cry, she wrapped her arms around him and started to shake, completely overcome with sentiment and sensation. As wildly as she began to seize up, his hand was a constant- around which her whole body seemed to quiver.

She was getting tighter, squeezing him all hot and wet. He moved his hand as quick as he could, as hard as he could- vibrating within her as she moaned and gushed, her desperate cries competing with the wet sounds of a woman in the throes of a violent ecstasy.

At last her climax abated. He slid his hand out from her trousers, similarly soaked to the bone. He left a trail along from her sex to her navel...

For a long time, the herald was just content to lay there in her lover’s affectionate embrace. 

They kissed.

They cuddled.

She took note of his renewed arousal, giggling as something hot and hard straining in his trousers rubbed against her.

Their hands wandered each other’s bodies, both of them going down to the other’s nethers, desperate to disrobe their lover. She got his pants down first, or at the very least, enough to reveal his manhood in its entirety. The sight of it made her heart aflutter and matched everything she imagined. Thick and manly, standing proud and dark beneath her pale fingers with a slight sheen.

The herald brushed his hands aside to pull down her own trousers to match, getting them down her thighs enough to reveal her own sex. Nestled beneath a veil of blonde hair, her womanhood was shamelessly aroused- glistening and swollen with need.

She rolled over, though not once did she turn her head away or break eye contact with him.

The knight wrapped his arms around her and she reached down her back, to her bottom and his sex. Staring deep into his amber eyes, the herald angled his manhood until his tip brushed against her womanly lips. With a happy sigh, she bit her lip and pushed her hips in to take him.

He softly moaned as he filled her… and soon couldn’t help himself, beginning to thrust his dark masculine body against her light and feminine figure. He hugged her close and she held one of his hands against her breast, their fingers interwoven.

The knight made love to his herald, kissing her all the while. Their bodies had become joined in the most intimate of ways, both above and below. She was rolling her hips backwards to meet him as he thrust to fill her… and he would not long be able to endure this sublime congruence with such a beauty- with such an inspiration.

He moaned, announcing to the world his inability to hold out against her passionate ardor.

She giggled between kisses and understood well enough what was happening.

He came, holding her as tight as he could while pushing his hips as hard as he could.

The herald was completely content- knowing with certainty and satisfaction that she had so easily visited upon his body and soul these heavenly delights. Sensations that he could not long resist.

She was so happy, feeling him climax- watching him give in to his pleasure. His seed poured into her womb, so warm and comforting. She tightened her abdominal muscles and clenched upon him, as if to extract from him everything he had to give. Her knight utterly spent himself… and let out exhausted sighs of pleasure as his seed began to dribble thick and wet down her thighs.

His hips stopped moving and he was finished. Never once did he think of breaking their affectionate embrace… and when he finally regained his senses, he tenderly squeezed her hand.

Everything beyond the room seemed to fade. There was no eclipse, no Lords of Cinder or First Flame. There was only the knight and herald, laying together in ephemeral bliss.

These… unions, these transpositions of men and women across worlds- they were transient things. They did not and could not last for very long. Even the Age of Fire was destined to evanesce.

Yet this did not account for the humble lily that bound them both- the little flower, plucked from its roots, that remained in bloom against all odds.


End file.
